Comings and Goings
by Talisman
Summary: This has been here before, and has been pared a bit but remains an intense R. I missed it. Skip it if you caught it the first time.


**__**

Author's Note: I wanted this back up, it was kidnapped when the NC-17 Nazis swept through. Have done some editing nevertheless it is an intense "R". Poem cited is "The Tyger" by Blake. 

CHAPTER 1

The time for playing games is drawing to an end. 

Mmm, though I suppose I can make concessions for a few more. 

She is glorious, like a winter sunset. This description of her is the most intelligent utterance to come from Dr. Chilton. I use Dr. with trepidation. So anyone would after viewing his credentials. 

Even trapped in such an ungainly way with her hair in the refrigerator door, she is ever so elegant and strong. She meant to dash out my brains with that candlestick. Dr. Lecter, in the kitchen, with the candlestick in his head. What a clue, Clarice. 

Wincing now. Her shoulder pains her though the stitches stand firm. I can smell her blood and anger. I can smell all of her. 

Damnit, that'll damn well have to be restitched after this. Caught by my hair... this would be humorous if it weren't so... what it is. Still, could have been worse. For all I know it will be. Though he surely could have killed me before now. He's had the opportunity. Catch your breath girl. Damn, he smells good. Ok, now I know I'm depraved. Blame it on whatever he's doped me with.

Looking at me with those eyes. They are intriguing and about as healthy to look at as a full eclipse. Hmm, he's breaking eye contact now, what is he- hey, eyes back up here mister. 

Here he comes, back up, keep your eyes on mine Doctor and I may get out of this alive.

"Does it bother you Clarice, to have my eyes move over you? You are quite lovely this evening, though I must say a bit disheveled." 

That loose bit of hair not caught in the icebox, what will she do when I go to move it? Only one way to find out. Mmm, not flinching at my hand, quite pleasing. There, much better tucked behind her ear. I give her my best smile. She is boiling. 

Did he say disheveled? I can't imagine what else I would be at this point. Wait, oh yes I can. Beats dead or dying any day.

"Doctor, I am disheveled. We just had a fucking wrestling match in my lobotomized boss' kitchen. But it is the least of my worries at the moment." There, be brave.

"Oh Clarice, it's not as bad as all that. I thought in your part of the world "He needed killin'" was a valid defense. No?" 

I wait. She could quite possibly punctuate that remark with a good roundhouse or at least a slap. Perhaps not. She seems to be content with staring.

Clarice, don't laugh, girl. This is not the time, this is not the- shit, why does the only interesting person in my life have to be him? And why did I not check the phones? Score two for morphine. I may black out.

"What is going on in that head of yours, Clarice? Don't worry, I intend to only find out by... unobtrusive means." Again with the smile. Most who have seen it in my lifetime have wept and cursed at it, so long as they had the fortitude to do so. There is a wonderful symmetry to this. I wonder does she see it, or allow herself to.

I expect she could. Whether she will remains to be seen. 

So strong and brave, but she tires. The substances in her system which calmed her and kept her from aggravating her wound are telling on her now. Not that it did any good. I do not have to look from her eyes to know her gunshot wound is flowing. I move closer.

Christ, here he comes. I feel shame at the tear that has escaped. Why break down now? I have seen so much blood and murder. Hell, I have caused the death of quite a few people. How- oh Christ, he can't be half a foot from me. My body refuses to move. This must be what scared stiff feels like. Be calm Clarice and you might just make it out alive, be cal- Holy God, I think he's licking me.

"Some moths feed entirely on tears Clarice, did you know that?" 

I whisper this quietly and don't wait for her answer as the tip of my tongue traces the path of her tear.

"Is that what you do, Doctor? Feed on pain? My pain?" I should not feel hurt by this speculation, but I do. Damn me, I am cracking, and the fresh tears are giving it away. This shouldn't hurt. I am merely another mouse which he keeps alive to swat and torture. Nothing personal.

Ah my Clarice, your mind is much sharper than any weapon you wield. 

"I have no wish to cause you pain." My mocking tone has fled me. I feel drained like never before. Her agony holds no joy for me. Better to be done with this, I have no patience for stalemates. Perhaps she would like to trade for my disappearance from her life forever. My price though, mmmm. Ah. She speaks.

"Then let me go Doctor. Let me go and let me be." Can it be true that this last statement has been the subject of my best dreams and my worst nightmares? It can. At this point I can't tell if I am bluffing. I suppose I will find out. "Or just eat me- whatever you do, do it quick because this has become tedious."

"Eat you Clarice? Well, there ARE times when you have to make do with what's in the fridge, and that would be you at the moment my dear." Did she roll her eyes at me? Impudent.

"Yes... well, at any rate Clarice, I will depart from you and yours forever. You shall never be bothered, see the shade I make nor hear the sound of my feet. I will trouble you no longer, and on this you have my word. But this abstinence will carry a price." 

I can't believe I am hearing this. "Why put it off Doctor? The only way you will stop interfering with me is if one of us is dead. And we both know the person you love most in this world is you, and you know good and well you aren't going to be committing suicide." 

"Clarice, my price is not synonymous with either of our deaths."

"What is it you want, Doctor?" My head aches, God let us be done with this or I will die hanging by my hair from a refrigerator.

"You, Clarice."

**__**

CHAPTER 2

She faints. 

I am able to catch her beneath her arms before she is left to hang. Slowly but gingerly, I am able to free her hair from the door. She feels warm in my arms. 

Transfixed by the blood trickling from her stitched flesh, my head lowers to breathe her blood scent more clearly, and I find myself gently licking around the wound. The medical training in me screams that my mouth with its inevitable human nature could cause her injury to become infected. 

This has never been an obstacle or an issue before. Never has my mouth been put to the task of cleaning. Of comfort. Of loving. But I do, I do all of these things to her. 

At what price comes change? She has been charged the ultimate price. To be intelligent enough. To be cunning enough. To be strong. To be brave. To be all that she is and yet be so much more than the sum of her parts. She has paid dearly and the debt has been cleared. 

I carry her unconscious form upstairs and into the bed chamber from which she emerged earlier in the evening. I consider removing her dress so that she may sleep more comfortably. No, best to leave her as she is. Mmm, I will remove the shoes, there... Oh Clarice. You have _very _shapely feet.

Her wound must be cleansed and I swab it gently with hydrogen peroxide. 

Ah, she stirs.

My head, where... youch, damn, my shoulder, what... This does not feel like the back of a refrigerator. Not that I am complaining. I must have actually passed out. Him. 

"Doctor Lecter, what... am I bleeding?" My arm feels wet. 

"No Clarice, your bleeding has stopped. I am safeguarding the wound against infection. I apologize for the sting." And that is not all. I smile at her. I realize with some amusement that the ache in my face is due to the disuse of the muscles there.

"Try to sleep. Tomorrow you can leave, or do whatever you wish. I will be gone before you wake."

Gone?

"What is this game you're playing Doctor?" I almost ask him if he already took from me what he wanted, but I can not bring myself to say it. It is untrue.

What is happening to me? Krendler is downstairs, dead if he is lucky, and I don't seem to care. I should care. What I feel is revulsion for what he was and what he would have done to me if he had the chance. Revulsion is contagious and it creeps into all things Krendler, guns and badges. 

I have no doubt that what Lecter says is true. If he means to go and drop out of sight, that is what he will do. Of course, he has said that before...

But the reason he is here is because of me. Because I was the only one who gave a damn about his life and what Verger would do to it. Daniel in a den of wild boars instead of lions. Would he prefer death by boar to death by needle? What do I prefer? The hard answer is, it is not my choice to make. I want no part in delivering anyone else to death.

"No games Clarice. The price I asked of you... has already been paid, long before this night" My hand reaches out and touches her hair. Warmth and softness. She stiffens but then relaxes and sighs.

"Memphis, Clarice. Our minds engulfed with one another, more searing than any physical intimacy. Your touch moved me and I knew none would ever compare for as long as I shall live...." I shake my head. This will not do. 

"Clarice, it has been a pleasure. Thank you." 

My legs, steady as ever, carry me out of her room.

**__**

CHAPTER 3

Crying . 

Under blankets and through walls I can hear her, and even now comforting her is not what she would have me do. Close we are, of course, but some walls separating long dark rooms from a thorough bright wind must be removed brick by brick. In some cases, chip by agonizing chip. Brute force will not do. 

Brute agony is what I hear, starting with small hitches of her breath. Masked though they are, I have no trouble discerning them from the creaks and moans of the house we occupy. Small hitches, progressing even now into deep, low vocalizations. Best to turn over and sleep now... but it is, predictably, to no avail. The medium by which her extremes reach me is not mere wood, plaster and atmosphere that can be blocked out.

She will exhaust herself into sleep, perhaps. Wait- she calls my name. Is this possible?

A beat of silence and deliberation. 

I cannot help but roll from the bed, balls of my feet on the cold wood floor. Out my door, good, Krendler kept the hinges well oiled and my foray is thus far silent. Hearing my name in the midst of her suffering is unbearably alluring.

Turning the knob of her door slowly, I consider what I will do on the other side. Tell her everything was well? HA. Instinct has served me well in this world, perhaps it will serve me now. Her door beckons. Entering now and closing the door behind me. 

Gasping, she gathers her quilt around her until it is under her chin. Before she can speak, I am there, kneeling, elbows on her bed. Looking at her with apology, sadness and curiosity. 

"Please let me comfort you." This sentence flowed out beyond my control. A sentence never spoken by myself. I take a moment to record the event. She looks confused and alarmed. I am compelled to take her hand, wet with tears, into mine. She does not pull away. 

Stop. This is... surprising. Another for the records. How could I think she could ever stop surprising me? Looking at her, she knows I know. She, averting her eyes. Back again to me. Good girl, do not look away.

"Oh, Clarice...." but what can I say, best to be silent, as I take her hand, warm in mine, to my mouth. 

My eyes close. 

I exhale completely the breath in my lungs and I can feel my nostrils flare as they hover above her fingers, her palm, the back of her hand. Locked in this moment my awareness is concentrated on a few facts, that the wetness on her hand this night is not the result of crying and nor were her vocalizations. 

I become aware that I am growling.

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Busted. 

The man can hear and smell everything, I should have known. 

Have I stopped being afraid of that infamous mouth? Of that savagely beautiful mind? Quite possibly, I never was afraid. 

Looks like he won't be leaving so soon after all. Nor myself. Spared me the humiliation of a dramatic plea. I chuckle to myself, the image I would produce on the floor crying, making a last pitiful grab for his ankle as he walked out of the door and out of my life like Rhett making his way back to Charleston.

But now...

The only feeling I am aware of with my hand so near his mouth is.... sensation. Awareness and throbbing... Oh, his tongue tracing my fingertips. 

I could _never_ get tired of that. 

Considering for a moment, I take her index finger into my mouth, tentatively swirling my tongue around and around, over and over. This gives way to earnest suckling, she is delicious and I want more. I open my eyes to look at her now and do not miss the shy half smile, nor the blush that has began to envelop her.

Gently she pulls her finger from my grasp, grazing my lips as she does so.

More, oh I want more. But, patience is a virtue and I intend to take my time. 

After all, all good things to those who wait.

**__**

CHAPTER 4

Perhaps she has other ideas. 

We don't reckon time the same way, after all. 

Where is her hand going, wet with my saliva? Under the quilt? Ahh. Will she come....closer? I have no doubt of the former and now none of the latter, she is shifting, lying down and turning to face me.

"Clarice, if God has created finer I have not seen it." 

I have never spoken more truly.

Should I be blushing at my age? It's dark and he can't see it, but he smells it maybe, all pooling at the surface making me feel hot and faint. Yes, the blood is rushing to some very interesting places this evening. Like... here for example. Hot and wet... I have felt this many times before, in the dark and alone. 

Trying to block him out, think of anything but him

(Do you think it's because I like to look at you and think about eating you up- about how good you would taste?)

but to no avail, he is there. Oh Doctor, you were right about the urge to please, and being wary of it. But it was never Jack Crawford I had in mind.

My fingers, inside now, briefly filling, now sliding out to feed him. 

His eyes are closed and he is beautiful.

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Tyger Tyger burning bright,

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye, 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

My eyes close at the scent of her. So familiar. Much more pleasant than in her vehicle, her scent mixed with oil, gasoline. 

And her taste... I died a small death of pleasure sampling her steering wheel. This, well... this is bound to spoil me.

I stiffen and do not open my eyes as her finger gently rubs my lips. My left hand reaches out and holds her wrist firmly. For a fleeting second I am actually afraid I may bite her, so primal is the force she releases in me. She sighs, perhaps she is as relieved as I am that my mouth is content to suck hard at her, swallowing all I can.

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Never forget what he is.

Easy Clare, you're playing with fire here... oh, this doesn't hurt. His mouth... God how can a mouth that has taken so much life make me feel so.. alive?

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In what distant deeps or skies, 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

I can feel myself relaxing and it feels good. Oh, he heard that moan... I suppose shyness about vocalizing is pointless- after all he is sucking my bodily fluids from my fingers... Just going to enjoy this- I think too damn much sometimes.

"Please, _Clarice_."

Sliding my hand along the bed. Her body heat is in dramatic contrast to the cool sheet. Continuing, my hand now under her quilt. Mmmm- her thighs. She removed the dress after all. Her skin so soft. Delicious, as is the feeling of the hair on my arms bristling. Turning my hand over, tracing her soft skin with my knuckles. 

She is not afraid, and every soft sigh and barely realized moan draws me closer. 

Her calf muscle, hard from exercise, and my mind reaches back to her jogging. I massage her there, thinking of the rhythm of her muscles snapping and relaxing, and again being pulled taut by the impact.

Reluctantly I leave this area, my hand traveling the her fluid form to her hip. My touch becomes slight and very grazing, gentle circles on warm soft flesh.

His hand on my body leaves me breathless. I find that I am lying very still as if my movement will cause him to stop and withdraw his caresses. 

But I do move, to remove this quilt. 

Probably still blushing, but I think I will blush for a thousand years after this night. 

I know that he has seen me, but never really _seen _me. It was a place out of time, after all, when he was caring for my wounds.

Oh, don't you stop now, if you love me, you won't stop.

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And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

Just now my heart has skipped a beat. So it is medically possible. 

Interesting. 

It is as if I am seeing her for the first time. 

The gentle creaking of the mattress as I approach her on the bed. She is glorious and her eyes are dark with lust. All I can smell is her arousal and it flows through me, igniting long fallow synapses and shining a light into many forgotten corners. 

I face her on my side, and press against her until she is on her back and I am on her, flush against her.

A small sob of pleasure as I kiss her forehead. I look into her eyes.

The fact strikes me with a force almost painful- today I know what gratitude is.

Oh my- I may black out again, all of my blood has vacated my brain. Yep, all packed up, headed up and moved out, goin' South for the winter. 

I can hear my blood pound in my ears and feel my heart beat in... unusual places.

I wonder if he- oh God, he's going to kiss me... mmm- hey, that was my forehead. Still, no complaints. Maybe if I tilt my head up he'll- no, now he's at my neck. WOW- did the stubble on his cheek on my neck make THAT happen? Felt like electricity down there. His mouth, oh his mouth... Time to take matters into my own hands. Easy Clare, gently... there.

His face is warm in my hands. A little pressure, there he comes... mmm. Oh yes. His mouth is so soft. Was that his tongue? Always wondered what that would feel like. 

I could develop a taste for tongue. 

__

What the hammer? and what the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil ? what dread grasp,

Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

I am delighted that she is initiating our first kiss. 

Delicious- but I sense a bit of uncharted territory being covered. I will have to teach her that pleasant kissing can be had without one opening one's mouth this wide. 

There, she is falling into a nice rhythm with my lips and tongue_. That's my girl_.

My left hand finds and cradles the back of her head... I moan into her mouth and feel reverberate through her skull and into my hand.

Her throat beckons once again and I press my lips to the jugular vein, feeling her life's blood beat hard through her body.

She gasps and I smile as my right hand closes over her left breast, grazing circles over her nipple with my palm and then gently massaging.

Oh Clarice, my dear, I am _so_ going to eat you up.

Kissing my throat now.. and his hand on my breast... I think I am flushing hotter if that is possible. A silly thrill of fear makes me shiver... could I melt like a tiger into butter?

Suckling me now... his teeth on me gently... 

I groan in frustration, he is moving from my nipples, my belly, now where- oh MY-

"No..." Did I say that?

She bids me stop. Her hands barely hold my face still.

It pains me to do so but I stop my ministrations and gaze at her. Desire, excitement... do I see fear? 

Oh my, Clarice. My apparently misbegotten comment about sticky fumblings comes back to haunt me and I hide the pain in my eyes by lowering my head once again to her abdomen. 

Her skin and the muscles it sheathes jump at the sensation of my tongue. I look up and hope to find her looking at me, ahhh yes. Our gaze locks.

I allow my tongue to swirl lazy hot circles on her belly. Around her navel, licking her, sucking her flesh gently and barely scraping my incisors against it as I pull my mouth away.

The feel of her subdued writhing under my weight is thrilling.

This, I wasn't expecting this... my hands on his face, now on his head (_my God, I love that new haircut_)- I may die if his mouth doesn't get there and my hands seem to agree, urging him along as if they had a will of their own. 

Idle hands are the devil's playground and I don't give a fuck, let him play.

Oh God, he-

Did he bite my thigh? And why is it so wonderful?

His breath there, oh, it's hot it's hot and it burns-

"HANNIBAL!"

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When the stars threw down their spears

And water'd heaven with their tears:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

"Oh Clarice, oh yes, oh-"

The sound of my given name on her lips slaughters me.

I cannot understand my own words as my mouth finds her sex. An overwhelming urge- how I want to press my face against her wetness until I am marked and covered and immersed in her scent totally.

She strains against me now, her body taut and tight.

"Shhhh, Clarice... just relax."

Relax? Yeah, right.

She pushes against me, and I pull away and wait... ah, she is a bit more subdued now...

Hmmm, this may be as still as she is likely to get.

I lower my head and began to gently lap at her. Her fluids have flowed from her and glisten on her perineum.

I lick with long, wide strokes until I have taken it all.

After all this, her labia are still pressed together and I begin to lick the tiniest bit, swirling and swirling... there, opening now, and baring to me more of her wetness.

Ever upward, to her clitoris. My mouth closes over it and begins sucking gently. 

Her cries astound me in their ferocity. I close my eyes and begin a steady rhythm of sucking and licking.

"Oh, oh God..."

It's too much, it's too much, 

It

BURNS

OH

He won't let me pull away, he won't let me... oh, oh yes, more.

MORE

Am I.... Oh God, I am now, now now now

He- oh my God- that was...

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Splendid. 

I am anxious to mount her. 

But more anxious to soothe, and hold her. She leaks tears without sobbing, and I am careful to catch every last one. 

I kiss her, knowing she will taste her arousal on my mouth.

Oh. She is touching me through my pajamas. I find it curious I have not jettisoned my clothing before now. No matter, better late than never.

I kneel between her thighs, unbuttoning my shirt and discarding it. The undershirt receives the same treatment. My eyes are on her for the duration. She gazes at my body, in obvious curiosity and hopefully in desire. Now, there... one pant leg off and now the other, the pajama bottoms launched across the room to join their companions on the floor. Am _I_ blushing under her gaze?

It has never concerned me before, but I find myself hoping that she approves. 

Her hand on me again... Oh, Clarice. She speaks and my name comes to me as the utterance of a host of angels.

"Hannibal," I love the sound of it rolling off my tongue. I love the feel of my flesh rolling off his tongue. 

He responds to my unsaid desire, lying once again on me, his lower body between my thighs, haunches tensed.

I feel myself tremble with exertion and need. His eyes are on mine, and I can't look away, can't move, and he is bearing into me with his body-

"Oh!" I cry out from the bit of pain and the overwhelming feeling of fullness and I think I hear my name-

"_Clarice_," Was that my voice, so hoarse and strangled? 

Sliding into her becomes the moment which may unhinge all my control. Her want of me is staggering, her wet hot heat enveloping me and I must force myself to slow, to allow her to adjust. 

"Oh Clarice, mmm, yes..." 

I take her with measured strokes which are too fantastically wonderful to last.

This is too much, it is so-

Good, this is so good and it's coming again... moaning moaning moaning

Tight, so tight, my darling Starling, yes, fuck me back my dear, take me as I take you- _my goddess on Earth_.

We do not think about tomorrow beyond the basic sexual and culinary forays, when borrowed time is what one plans by it is best to live in the moment. 

For now we are content to dine on the terrace overlooking green land and a world full of rich delight and promise. 

Sometimes we do not finish dinner, and sometimes under the gaze of Orion, we dance.

The End


End file.
